


Found On the Shore Of  the Thames, A Body

by wellmet



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: F/M, M/M, death of Vesper Lynd of screen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-28 22:31:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16251122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wellmet/pseuds/wellmet
Summary: A body is found on the banks of the Thames and it's Mrs Bond. Q is going on heat leave and Bond is forced  into rut.  Vesper Lynd is  murdered and James and Q must deal with a bonding neither wanted.  Gratuitous mention of cats, funerals and art. Happy ending.





	Found On the Shore Of  the Thames, A Body

**Author's Note:**

> A body is found on the banks of the Thames and it's Mrs Bond. Q is going on heat leave and Bond is forced into rut. Vesper Lynd is murdered and James and Q must deal with a bonding neither wanted. Gratuitous mention of cats, funerals and art. Happy ending.

FOUND ON THE SHORE OF THE THAMES, A BODY  
Meretseger 2016

 

Detective Inspector Smith looked down at the body of the woman who been left behind by the retreating tide. "What can you tell me?" he asked the SOCO who was kneeling down beside the body. A mud lark, licensed to scavenge on this muddy stretch of Thames bank had found her and called the police. 

"Early thirties," the officer said, his voice calm and crisp. "Not going to be much evidence, she's only been in the river a day or so but most of it will have been washed away." He unclipped the dark leather bag from around the woman's body and carefully opened it. He found a wallet and put it in a plastic evidence bag and then handed it over. 

The squelch of Wellington boots on the soft mud caught Smith's ear and he looked around as Doctor Marchese came closer. A nod and the doctor knelt down by the body, the forensic officer standing up out of the way.

Marchese made a quick, routine check and then looked up. "There's a wound on the back of her head, possibly peri-mortem, I won't be able to tell until I open her up." She went back to her examination, feeling for more wounds. "No other obvious injuries." Smith sighed. "Married," the doctor continued, holding up a lax, pale hand to show the rings. "Expensive jewellery to go with expensive clothes. Her blouse is silk and her handbags designer, like her suit."

"Not robbery then," Smith said as he felt a familiar tightness in his chest. He would have to tell some husband that he had lost his wife. Unless the man knew already. There were a lot of reasons why bodies were put into the Thames and sometimes it was with the hope that the river would take all the evidence out into the English Channel and with it any hope of solving a missing persons case. 

Leaving the scientists to their work Smith joined his sergeant who had finished talking to the man who had found the body. "Anything?" he asked.

Sergeant Nett shook his head. "No, sir. He hasn't been down here for three days so he doesn't know how long the body could have been here." There was nothing else to do until he could track down the dead woman's husband so they went back to the Yard.

The chaos at Scotland Yard never seemed to end, annoying Smith who hated change. He liked New Scotland Yard and saw to reason why the building couldn't be upgraded. Why did they have to move to some new building? He felt as if he didn't know where he was supposed to work. His desk was still in the old building but half the people he was supposed to work with had moved. And, yes, he knew they were only a keyboard's strokes away and, yes, he'd done the course on the new computer system but he still didn't like change.

Detective Sergeant Nett put a mug of tea on his superior's desk and sat down at his own. He didn't care where he worked; as long as he had his computer it didn't matter where his desk was but he knew his boss didn't feel the same. He typed in the name of the victim and started reading her file. He listened as the mug was put down and a sigh and then, " tell me all about Ms Lynd, Sergeant."

Relieved at the even tone of his superior and no longer surprised at the healing properties of a well made cup of tea Nett read out the information on his screen. "Vesper Lynd, married to James Bond. Posh flat to go with the designer clothes and jewellery. Works at the Treasury Department. No criminal record. One outstanding parking fine."

"We'll go and look at where she lived. See what her husband has to say." Any investigation started close to the victim and worked outwards. Not that this was a murder yet but accident, suicide or murder you had to start somewhere.

The large Victorian style building where the Bonds lived had a very good security system but they were lucky and a resident leaving as they arrived took a look at their warrant cards and let them in. The two policemen had not expected the door to the flat to be opened at their knock as it was just after lunch and Mr Bond would be at work but it was opened by a cleaner who let them in when she saw their identification. She looked shocked when she was told that Mrs Bond was dead but she lead the detectives into a stylish but rather bland looking living room and sat down, her fingers tight around each other.

"Mr Bond is away on business," the cleaner, who identified herself as Marianna Demara, said. "He goes away a lot. He works for Universal Exports."

"When did you last see Ms Lynd?" Nett asked. He asked the questions and Smith watched for reactions. It was called team work. 

"I don't see her very often," Mrs Demara answered. "I come late in the morning Monday and Friday and Mrs Bond she leaves before I arrive. But I saw her Monday. She was leaving just as I arrived. She said she had to come back for something. Poor Mr Bond - he is a nice man. Polite and not overly friendly but when I work late if they entertain he always insists on calling a taxi for me and going downstairs with me and he pays the fare." She had friends who were left to find their own way home if they worked late. "I suppose you know that Mrs Bond was a beta and Mr Bond an alpha?"

"Do you know how we can contact him?" Smith asked. It looked like the husband was in the clear. It was unusual for an alpha to marry a beta but not unknown.

The cleaner took her mobile 'phone out of her apron pocket and found a contact number. Holding it up so the policemen could read it she said, "Mr Bond gave me this number. He said anything made me suspicious - and he said 'anything at all' I was to call that number and tell the person who answered why I was calling." Nett and Smith exchanged looks. It seemed that Mr Bond expected trouble. 

"We'll just have a look around," the DI said, not expecting to find any evidence after the cleaner had done her job but it was routine. "Have you noticed anything that seems out of place or isn't in its usual place?" A good cleaner got to know the places she cleaned and would notice anything out of place.

"No, sir," Mrs Demara answered easily. 

They thanked the cleaner and left the flat. Where to sir?" the sergeant asked.

"Treasury," The DI answered. "Looks like the husband is in the clear for now. We'll check with the victim's co-workers." 

While Nett drove Smith rang Universal Exports and wound his way through their telephone system until he was put in contact with a Miss Moneypenny. He made an appointment to see her not knowing that he had been speaking to MI6. Meanwhile down in the lower reaches of the building one of the members of Q Branch was reading a report on her computer screen and making notes on a lined pad. 

"Quartermaster!" The Quartermaster's of MI6 looked up from his work, carefully putting aside the very small soldering iron he was using to repair damaged tech. He knew this was trouble, Ms Malwon only had one job and when she spoke to him it meant that a family member of one of the agents or employees of Her Majesty's Secret Service was in trouble. 

"Who and what?" he asked, not wasting time. Ms Malwon was older that most of the members of his staff, the self-titled Minions, chosen because she knew how to keep her mouth closed and not gossip.

"DS Nett of Scotland Yard looked up the file on Ms Lynd - Mrs James Bond. I used my connection to their computer system and found his preliminary report. She was found this morning, on the river bank; preliminary report says there is a wound on the back of her head."

Q, cursed under his breath. "Thank you. I'll take over from here."

"Of course," Malwon handed her boss the downloaded reports and went back to her desk, stopping on her way to shred the notes she had taken. 

The security guard on the entrance to the Treasury building passed the two detectives over to the department's own investigators and once they had explained what had happened they were escorted to Ms Lynd's department. The staff were shocked to hear of her death but nobody seemed unduly upset and they soon learned why.

"She was out of her depth," Ion Lotham, Ms Lynd's second in charge said, as he showed the detectives to her office. "She was sent on a special job just over two years ago, overseas somewhere. All very hush hush. When she came back she was promoted but she wasn't a good supervisor." When Smith looked a question he shrugged and said, "she could be rather prickly if you questioned her judgement of people or situations." He shook his head. "She fancied herself as some kind of profiler, like those guys in the FBI who profile serial killers but she was - frankly, awful at it. She was good at running the day to day work, though." *

"Did you ever meet her husband?" Nett asked. There were no photographs in the office, which was unusual.

Lotham shook his head. "She never talked about him. She said he had a high profile job and was overseas a lot but nobody asked, she didn't like personal questions."

"Anybody have a grudge against her?" Some people could get very upset about their work situations. 

"No," the man answered. "Just not liked particularly much. But she was never unfair if something went wrong. It was her department and she was the boss so she took the blame and dealt with any problems."

The Head of Security, Sally Mortimer, had more information for the two detectives when they returned to her office. "I've checked the logs and spoken to the security guard on duty Monday night. He said Ms Lynd left at 7:10 p.m. He asked if she wanted him to call a taxi but she said she needed to walk. She logged out, using her security pass, and she left." She hesitated. "There's been a leak in Ms Lynd's office and she was at a meeting to discuss what should be done to find out who is the leak. I was at the meeting and she was upset and angry."

"Probably needed to walk off some of the anger, then," Smith said. "It's not a good feeling when some one you trust betrays you."

Mortimer sighed her agreement. "I'll let you know where our suspects were on Monday night," she said. "We have them all under surveillance. If you can pinpoint time of death …" 

"We'll let you know," Smith agreed. The investigation into Mrs Bond's death now had three strands and he was getting a headache!

Author's note*((Vesper got James Bond wrong when she 'profiled' him in 'Casino Royale' so I've given her the same failing at work.))

 

CHAPTER 2

 

Q was just about to leave his domain and go upstairs to M's office when his Second, who liked to be called R, came over to his work station. "Sir, 007 wants to talk to you, says its urgent."

Frowning, not wanting trouble delaying his trying to sort out his department before he went on a week's leave, he asked, "did he say what's wrong?"

"I don't know, sir. I was monitoring him while he was being talked at by Silvester. I couldn't hear anything but Bond didn't pass anything on so I assumed there was nothing going on. Now he's been left in a room somewhere in Silvester's complex and he wants to talk to you."

Q had, reluctantly, left 007 to R's control as he had no option but to leave his branch in his deputy's care and Bond had accepted the change of controller with reluctance but without complaining too much. But he was an omega and for health reasons he had to have at least one heat a year and he had arranged to take heat leave starting tomorrow. He hadn't yet contacted the old friend from his university days who helped him through his heat, he had been so busy he had forgotten. He didn't worry, if Kevin couldn't take the four days off he would know somebody who could; one advantage of working with university students, there was always a young alpha eager for three days of non-stop sex!

Q put an ear wig in and turned it on with a tap. "Yes, 007?" Bond's voice sounded shaky, which troubled the Quartermaster. "Bond are you hurt?"

"I'm in trouble," Bond answered. "Silvester injected me with enough hormones to push me into a rut."

"Shit, shit!" Q spat. "Do you know how long you have before it's too late to get you back here?" He would have to prepare the rescue squad for the possibility that the agent would be violent and a violent double 0 agent could be very dangerous. 

"A day, probably less. Silvester said he was using a high dosage. Can you get me out?"

Q was on another line talking to R as soon as Bond had stated his problem. "I need a rescue squad to 007's location. You have twelve hours. He has been given something that may force him into rut." 

R was talking to somebody, shaking his head. "Well, get there as soon as you can. Prepare for a … disturbed patient. I will send you the details. R out!"

"Sir, rescue said they can't do it in less than fourteen hours. There's a tropical storm brewing and they can't fly until the worst has passed."

"Okay," Q ran a hand through his already unruly hair. "I'm going up to see M anyway, I'll let him know about Bond's troubles." All of them, he added to himself. This was going to need sensitive handling.

 

When Q went up to tell M about 007's problems Miss Moneypenny was just getting ready to go and talk to the detective in the offices of Universal Exports, which were on a street that ran along the back of the MI6 building. 

M looked up from his computer. "Yes, Quartermaster?" 

Q sat down, uninvited, and said, "the body of Vesper Lynd, Bond's wife was found this morning."

M seldom swore but he did now. "He's due back in three days time." And it would have to be him who told Bond. "Very well, Q, I'll deal with it." 

"There is a complication, sir," Q said. "Bond has been injected with enough hormones to put him into rut. He will be back here in just enough time … I want to take him to my place. Since I'm going into heat I will be able to cope with him." He doubted if Bond's wife would have been able to handle the amount of sex an alpha in rut wanted - needed. "I get along well with 007 and there is no danger of me getting pregnant."

M nodded. "That's a very good suggestion, Q." A rut with no sexual outlet was a death sentence to an alpha and 007 was one of his best agents. "As soon as he gets here I'll have him taken to your home." He had not been happy about his Quartermaster taking a week's leave to go through a heat but Medical had insisted that the young omega have at least one heat a year. These days suppressant made it possible to regulate an omega's heats. It looked as if Q's heat was going to be very convenient.

"I must go and finish getting my department ready for my leave," Q said, standing up. 

 

On the other side of the building Miss Moneypenny was waiting in an office for the two policemen to arrive. An internal enquiry was underway into the possibility that Vesper had been killed because she was Mrs Bond but she felt that the beta's death owed more to a love affair gone wrong than any security leak. M had agreed with her and left it up to her what she thought she should tell the two detectives. They both had clean records so she could give them some of the Bonds' personal details.

Sergeant Nett's eyes widened when he set eyes on Miss Moneypenny - he had been expecting a woman in her forties or fifties not a young women with a beautiful figure, dressed in bright yellow to show off her dark skin and hair and high heels that added at least six inches to her height. Nor had he been expecting the air of strength that sat lightly on her face and eyes. 

DI Smith was a happily married man but even he was impressed by the beautiful young woman who smiled and welcomed them to Universal Exports.

Miss Moneypenny was used to the effect she had on men and used it to her advantage when she needed to. "How can I help you detectives?"

Hiding a smile Smith let Nett explain the reason for their call. She didn't look surprised which made him suspicious but when Miss Moneypenny explained that Mr Bond had a very sensitive job that was 'government connected' he knew that he wasn't going to get any further information.

"We are conducting our own investigation," Miss Moneypenny told the two detectives with a smile. She rather liked the looks of DS Nett who had red-blond hair and hazel eyes set off by creamy skin accented by just enough freckles, and let her eyes rest on him for a moment. We …" there was no need to explain who 'we' were. "would appreciate it if you could investigate from your angle and keep us up to date."

"DS Nett will contact you as soon as we have anything to report, ma'am," DI Smith stated. His wife would accuse him of playing cupid but he could tell his colleague was pleased with the opportunity for further contact with Miss Moneypenny.

Nett, a little flustered but flattered by "please call me Eve" 's obvious interest gave Moneypenny his business card. 

Miss Moneypenny flicked the DS's card against a lacquered finger nail with a smile and went back to her desk outside M's office. 

"What do you think, sir?" Nett asked as Smith, who liked to drive in London's tricky traffic, drove them back to Scotland Yard.

"I think you should expect a phone call very soon," Smith answered, deliberately misunderstanding. "I want to see Ms Lynd's call log on her mobile."

Nett, shaking off his memory of dark sparkling eyes and a figure out of his hottest fantasies said, "it's possible she killed herself.”

"Mmm," Smith agreed. "But Ms Lynd was an educated woman, she had a good job and money off her own. Women these days don't have to stay in relationship they don't like because they don't have resources of their own."

Not the electronic Luddite he always said he was Smith looked up Vesper's call log and he and Nett went through the numbers, matching them to the contacts list on her mobile phone and her flat's land line. There was only one number that stood out as being only on the mobile.

Nett looked up with a grim expression on his face. "I think we should go and see Mr Martin Lock don't you, sir?"

"Oh, yes, indeed," Smith agreed. "Find out where he works and we'll go and see him straight away. If he doesn't co-operate we can threaten to go to his home when his wife's there."

Nett, who liked the way his governor thought, agreed. He liked upsetting City types who thought they were more intelligent than the Yard's Finest.

Q assigned the search for any threat Bond's wife to Mrs Malwon. His staff were well trained and didn't gossip but word would leak out, eventually, of that he had no doubt but it was nobody's business but Bonds, and went back to organising his department for his absence.

 

Smith was used to City types who considered a bit of extra weight added to their gravitas so he was surprised when he met Martin Lock that the man evidently preferred the 'lean and hungry look' that troubled Caesar. 

Lock wasn't happy to have Scotland Yard detectives invading his office but he knew that to protest too loudly would only lead to more questions from the police and more speculation amongst the bank's other employees. 

"No calls Ms Blackmann," Lock said as he closed the double doors into his large office. He sat down and waited until the detectives had taken seats and then asked, "what can I do for you?"

"Do you know a Ms Vesper Lynd, Mr Lock?" Asked in the nicest of voices it still shocked Lock to hear his wife's friend's name in that mildly accusing tone of voice.

"I do," Lock admitted. "She's a friend of my wife. Since they were at school together."

"I am sorry to inform you, sir, that Miss Lynd was found dead this morning. Can you tell me when you last saw her?"

"Just over two months ago - she and her husband James had dinner at our place." Hearing it that bluntly was a shock and his immediate thought was for his wife.

Slightly annoyed at the terse answer that gave away nothing but the information he had asked for Smith asked, " and have you heard from her since then?" He had an awful feeling that this was going to be like pulling teeth.

Lock was used to keeping what might be valuable information to himself unless he was asked for it in a very direct manner but he had no reason to refuse to answer. "She called me on the fourteenth of March to tell me that my wife had seen something she liked." He supposed he would have to explain even though it went against his nature to do so. "On the evening that Vesper and James had dinner with my wife and myself I made an opportunity to ask Vesper to let me know if my wife expressed a desire for anything that might make a suitable birthday present. She rang me on the fourteenth to tell me that she had been out shopping with my wife and they had spent some time looking in an art gallery and there was a painting in which my wife was interested."

"And Ms Lyn has not contacted you since?" Nett asked. He had the print out of call dates and times in his pocket, ready.

"She called a couple of times - no three times -" Lock answered. "I can give you the exact times and dates and what we discussed." He saw no reason not to give the detectives the information they needed. He typed Vesper's full name into his computer and added, as he waited for it to search out the information. "It is company policy that we record any business calls we receive." The computer beeped to tell him that the data he had asked for was now on screen. "She called me at five minutes past ten on the tenth of May to ask my advice on an investment opportunity she had been offered through a colleague at work. I was about to go into a meeting so I took the details and said I'd do a little digging and get back to her.

"I called her back on the twelfth at five to one and informed her that I did not think that the investment was safe. I gave her a contact number for one of my colleagues who specialises in private investments.

"She rang me at ten o'clock the next day to say she had spoken to the person who had suggested she make this particular investment and that she now suspected that it was a Ponzi scheme and should she tell her work colleague? I said that was up to her but as an employee of the Treasury it might look suspicious if she did not. I suggested she contact the police and gave her the name of a detective I know in the Fraud Squad. She rang me on the fourteenth - which was last Friday - to say she had spoken to Detective Inspector Depak and that he was investigating but that there had been suspicions about …" he hesitated and then added, "Mr Marcus Derrian."

Nett made a note of the name to check later. "And those were the only calls you had from Ms Lynd or made to her?"

Lock nodded. "She is my wife's friend not mine."

There was something in the way the banker spoke that piqued Smith's interest. "You have anything else you think might help our investigation?"

Lock hesitated but Vesper had been Elizabeth's friend for a long time and his wife would be upset about her death, which meant that he had to be frank with the detectives. "My wife and I felt that James was … is a dangerous man; or that at least his work involves him in some dangerous people or situations." Lock sat back in is chair. "When we go out to a restaurant he insists on a table at the back of the restaurant and always - always - sits with his back to the wall. I don't like exposing either my wife or myself to the possibility of something nasty happening. Vesper always seems amused by James' actions, as if she knows why he does the things he does and likes knowing something we don't."

Satisfied that he had got all they could for the moment from Lock Smith stood up. "Thank you for your frankness, sir. We'll contact you if we need anything else."

The banker stood up as well. "Can I tell my wife about Vesper?" He wasn't looking forward to it but it had to be done.

Smith and Nett walked towards the door and Smith answered, "we will advice your wife, Mr Lock. We'll need to talk to her."

Relieved, Lock nodded. "Could you tell Elizabeth to call me if she wants me to come home to be with her?"

"We’ll do that," Nett agreed. 

 

Chapter 3 

The retrieval team got to 007 as soon as they could and were relieved to find that he was agitated but not overly aggressive. He was treated with caution, however, and was back in London before he needed to be restrained. Medical did their checks as quickly as possible and wisely decided that even though a wound in his arm really required stitches it would be unwise to subject their patient to either a local anaesthetic or the slightest pain and bandaged him as best they could and called for a car to take him to Q.

Bond, who was expecting his wife to meet him, was in no state to notice that the flat he was taken to was not his own; all he could smell was an omega in heat. His own sense of smell was heightened due to his state of arousal and he wasn't thinking clearly. All he knew was that he was feeling ill and his penis hurt. He needed relief and relief was waiting for him in the bedroom. Part of his brain realised that the person in the bed wasn't Vesper that it was his Quartermaster but the alpha part of his brain was pleased - what an alpha in rut needed was an omega in heat. He would think about guilt and apologies and explanations later.

Q, whose own brain was not too clear, was hot and sweaty, slick was running down his thighs and suddenly there was the smell of an alpha in rut. Like Bond he was thinking with the mammal part of his hind brain not the Human part and nothing else seemed to matter. 

Medical had wisely given 007 scrubs to wear and Bond tore them off as he strode purposefully across the room. As he stepped up to the bed Q turned on his stomach and spread his legs as far apart as possible. "Get in here alpha I need you." 

It wasn't quite an order but to Bond's alpha it was as good as one. He knelt up on the bed, ran a finger across the damp warmth of the opening to Q's body and moved forward and pressed inside the tight sheath of heat that welcomed him in. The ache he had been enduring for far too long faded into pleasure and his hips pressed him in to the omega's body until he could go no further and then he moved, in and out, pleasuring them both, giving the omega what he wanted, taking what he needed. They came at the same moment, pleasure peaking as James's knot slid past the ring of muscles at the entrance to the other man's body. Again they orgasmed and then again. 

Even with his mind clouded Bond knew he weighed more than Q and he rested on his folded arms instead of collapsing his weight onto the slighter man. He lowered his heat to kiss dark hair that was sweat damp. "Was good."

Q, whose normally busy mind was clouded with sated lust - for the moment - mmmed his agreement. "Very." 

Bond laughed, trust his Q to always have an answer. His hips pressed forward again as lust rose. Again?"

"And again," Q answered, twisting his hips to heighten their pleasure. 

Eventually even Bond's energy flagged and he moved lie on his back, pulling Q so he lay half over him with his head pressed close to Bond's shoulder. His mind clearer he said, "thanks for helping me with this. I don't think Vesper could have coped." He hoped that the reason he had needed an omega had been explained to her. She could be jealous and he had made sure he always showered at MI6 HQ before going home so there was no trace of the women he seduced while on duty. He had always wondered if she knew what he did while he was saving England but it was something they had never discussed. 

 

Chapter 4  
Elizabeth Lock had that sleek slenderness that comes from a very careful diet and long hours on the gym. It seemed that both Locks went for the 'lean and hungry look', but her smile was pleasant and there was no hesitation when she invited them into the house.

"What can I do for you, detectives?" she asked as she showed them into an obviously stylish sitting room and indicating that they sit down. She sat gracefully onto a silk covered sofa and folded he hands on her lap.

"We have some bad news, ma'am," Nott said carefully. Like all cops he hated this part of his job. "But we are looking into the death of Ms Vesper Lynd. Mrs James Bond." 

"But … but," Ms Lock started. "What happened?" She had gone pale and her dark eyes were suddenly sparkling with tears. "How … " she swallowed, "how did she … die?"

"We aren't sure yet," Smith admitted. "Can you tell us when you last saw Ms Lynd?"

Elizabeth nodded shakily. "It was Tuesday of last week. We were going to have lunch Monday just gone but she phoned at the last minute to say there was a flap on at work and she couldn't get away. She said she'd get back to me later." She fumbled in the pocket of loose cardigan she was wearing and took out a mobile phone. She pressed a couple of buttons and when the call was answered she said, "Majam, can you bring tea for three to the front parlour." She turned to the detectives. "If you will give me a minute?" She got up and went to look out of the window onto the street until the tea came and then returned to her seat.

Pouring tea calmed her a little and she drank to try and soothe the ache in her throat. Still holding onto the cup she said, "Vesper worked for the Treasury and James has some kind of job that takes him overseas a lot that that they never talk about. Maybe that is the reason …" she couldn't finish that sentence.

 

"We are looking into that side of the situation," Smith assured her. 

Hesitation was clear on the woman's face but she looked up from her cup. "I don't know if this is relevant but anything I can do to help…" She had to stop for a moment before she could continue. "Vesper wasn't happy in her marriage. She complained about James being away too often. He got into some kind of trouble during one of his trips and Vesper told me that she wanted him to give up his job and find something less dangerous. I said she should talk to him, that it wasn't good to let it ruin their marriage." She shook her head. "But I don't think she ever did. I thought she was depressed and told her she could ring me any time she needed to but I also told her she should talk to James or maybe go to a marriage counsellor on her own."

"Thank you for telling us," Smith said gently. He was beginning to think that there was no one else involved in this tragedy than the Bonds. Maybe Vesper had just decided she couldn't stand the stress of her husband's job and knew he wouldn't change. 

Knowing that they would not get anything of any use off Ms Lock the two detectives stood up. "Your husband asked us to tell you that if you want call him he will come straight home," Nett told her. He got a nod but no words and they left the woman to her tears.

Since it was lunch time Smith and Nett stopped for lunch and a chat about their chances of solving the murder of Vesper Lynd. Nett was pessimistic, they had tracked down the one number of her phone that pointed to a lover and found out nothing more than Ms Lynd had money to invest and that her husband was in a dangerous job - which they knew anyway. 

But Smith was an old hand at solving seemingly unsolvable crimes. "We'll just have to start from the beginning again," he said with a shrug. Nett was about to suggest going through all of Vesper's phone calls again when both of their phones rang and they had been assigned another case of a body turning up where it shouldn't.

A body had been found in an unlocked car in a multi-story car park. A woman going to collect her own vehicle had noticed blood running down from a car door to pool on the concrete and gone to check. Other customers had heard her yell for help when she saw a body inside the car and someone had called 999. The uniformed officers had taken one look and called for SOCO and detectives. 

Smith and Nett arrived at the crime scene and waited for the forensics team to finish their work before moving forward. "Michael Wilkes," the technician said as he handed Nett a plastic evidence bag with a wallet in it. "Money and card still in the wallet."

"Not robbery then," Nett said but before he could comment further his phone rang. "If they've found another body …" he muttered but answered anyway. He listened for a while and then said, "we’ll be there." and broke the connection. Smith was talking to one of the uniformed officers but he turned when the sergeant moved up behind him. 

"I just had a call from Bow Street; a woman has just walked in and confessed to killing her husband, Michael Wilkes, and his mistress Jenny Moss. Said we could find the woman in her flat."

As the two detectives were leaving New Scotland Yard in a small town-house two men, an alpha and an omega, were sleeping, curled around each other, the air full of the smell of sex. 

Chapter 5 

DI Smith spent the morning giving evidence in a murder case, leaving his sergeant to go over Ms Lynd's phone records again. He left the Old Bailey feeling pleased with the questions he had been asked for once. Even though all the evidence pointed to Wendy Grace killing her husband he had never found enough evidence to convince him completely of her guilt. She had had no reason to kill William Grace; the divorce had been civilised since their children were grown up and they had no dog. Ms Grace had a good job with a book publisher as well as being the author of a best selling science fiction-detective series. The children had taken her side in the divorce since it was Mr Grace who had betrayed his marriage vows. So, when the defence barrister started asking awkward question Smith had been happy to answer them frankly. He had not wanted to close the investigation, it had been Superintendent Lake who ordered him to stop wasting money and when asked he had agreed that he had not been entirely satisfied with his findings. 

When Smith arrived back at his office he was surprised to see Nett looking pleased with himself; "you've found something?"

Nett smiled, waving a yellow highlighter in his hand. "Last night I watched an episode of that detective series set in the Caribbean, 'Death In Paradise'. The plot revolved around a cosmetic surgery practice that pandered to the vanities of the rich and famous. The manager of the business had a side-line in changing the looks of people who wanted to … er, pass unnoticed shall we say. She pocketed the money they paid, and it was a lot, and passed them off as patients wanting a new look. Nobody suspected and she was making a fortune until one of the legitimate patients was killed when she recognised a face. Apparently she was a True Crime fan and was actually reading a book about one of the crooks that had just arrived. To cut a long story short the manager had two mobile phones - one for the legal business, one for the crooked deals."

Smith saw where this was going and he nodded, not wanting to spoil his partner's gloating. He sighed, he'd have to put the lad up for promotion soon. "And?" he prompted.

Nett grinned. "I rang Miss Moneypenny and asked her if she knew if Ms Lynd had another phone apart from the one we knew about." He suspected that Universal Exports had access to data that he didn't and he'd been right. "She couriered all the details of a pre-paid mobile Ms Lynd had and these are all the calls she made on it in the last two months since she bought it and they were all to the same two numbers!"

"So you've found two more suspects?" Smith asked, knowing the answer.

"I have indeed," Nott agreed. "Michael Jeffries and Simon Whilkes."

Michael Jeffries lived in a suburban house on a tree-lined street. The garden was well tended and the windows looked recently washed. It was the kind of respectable street that policemen liked. Smith could see the lace curtains twitching next door. Nobody came or went on streets like these without somebody seeing them. Mr Jeffries lived alone in such a family sized house and was listed on his census returns as 'artist'; both would make him of even more interest to the neighbours. No doubt that next door neighbour would be able to tell him how often Vesper Lynd visited and whether she left in the evening or the morning. 

Jeffries answered the door immediately Nett rang the bell with a pile of mail in one hand, he'd obviously just taken it out of the metal basket under the mail slit. "I'm not interested in finding God thank you," he said, moving to close the door.

"Good, because I'm not God," Smith said, pushing the door wider. "We're from the police." He made sure he was talking to the right man and introduced himself and his partner.

"Oh," the artist blinked a couple of times, clearly surprised. "You had best come in."

Nett could smell paint and noticed the splatter of colour on the man's shirt. "Were you working, sir?" he had found it best to start off pleasant - you cold always move into 'bad cop' mode later if you didn't get the answers you wanted.

"Just taking a tea break," Jeffries answered, idly sorting through the junk mail. "This way." He turned to go down the hallway to the back of the house. "You want a cuppa?"

The door to room on the left of the door was open and as they passed Smith looked in and saw a large painting on an easel. He liked looking at paintings and asked, "mind if we take a look at your work?"

"Always ready to show off," the artist answered easily.

Smith looked around the room, noticing the plain white-painted walls and the heavy duty lino that had replaced the carpet. The only sign that this had once been a normal living room was the deep red velvet curtains that were pulled back from the windows and tied back with what looked like rope. He moved closer to the painting that had caught his attention, a portrait of a girl in her early teens dressed in ballet practice clothes. She stood in front of a barre backed by a ceiling height mirror. It wasn't until he had studied the painting closely that he realised that her reflection was wrong, reflecting her stance at a skewed angle. Further study turned the line of figures in the background from an innocent line-up reflected in the mirror to something slightly threatening. Smith liked it and turned to the artist. "Does she realise what you've done?"

Jeffries grinned and nodded, pleased at the older man's quick perception of what he had intended. "It was the only reason she agreed to pose for me." He shook his head. "Her parents have seen it and didn't notice a thing. And before you ask she was chaperoned all the time she was here." He dipped his head in the direction of the twitching lace curtain. "Her parents both work so I got Mrs Ferris to come over." 

"Very wise," Smith agreed. Stopping rumours before they got started. He moved to another large canvas, frowning as he tried to work out what it was supposed to be. A man - well person - dressed in flowing Middle Eastern clothes stood with his back to the viewer but instead of a head he had flames, in silver and gold. 

Nett moved up behind him. "The Moslem religion forbids the painting of Humans, sir. Especially the Prophet. The flames are the result of him seeing Allah face to face." He was not at all interested in religion personally but his best friend in high school had been a Muslim and he had picked up bits and pieces of others in his career as a policeman. Knowing the sensitivities of others was often useful when it came to asking questions.

The artist was nodding. "I looked at a lot of early handwritten books in Arabic and the prohibition on depicting people wasn't so strictly enforced back then. But the Prophet was always shown with his face covered and flames surrounding his head - like the halo on a Christian saint, or Moses when he came down from Mount Sinai after God gave him the ten commandments." 

The man with the halo's face was turned away from the viewer due to the angle at which he stood and was suggested by just a few brush strokes. He held out a strong, well shaped hand to another man, dressed in black and holding a large rifle against what looked like a vest packed with explosives. Something was written in Arabic on the creamy-yellow coloured wall that was the background to the painting. The scene was lit by the light that seemed to come from the Prophet - as if he lit up the whole place.

"What does the Arabic say?" Nett asked. He liked the painting, liked the way the light seemed not to fall on the half-hidden face of the young man who was obviously some kind of soldier or terrorist.

" 'Why are you so angry, my son.' ," Jeffries said. "I think it is just something that Mohammed would say to the men who kill in his name. I read a couple of biographies and he seemed to be a good man, very religious. A man of his time, of course, but a warrior not a suicide bomber." He shook his head. "My wife was killed in Afghanistan by a road side bomb." He pointed to the painting. "That was my way of trying to make sense of her death." He spoke calmly but Smith could see the emotion on his face and in the painting. He nodded but said nothing - what was there to say?

Nett liked the next painting more. It was a large vase of flowers, beautifully spread to show their colours and shapes. It was peaceful until he noticed that none of the flowers existed on Earth. Jeffries, it seemed, couldn't just paint something simple.

Satisfied with the reactions of the detectives Jeffries led them into the kitchen and got down two more mugs and switched on the kettle again. "How can I help the constabulary?"

"Do you know a Vesper Lynd, sir?" Smith asked. 

The artist nodded. "Yes. She and I are friends." He stopped, frowning. "Why? What’s wrong with her?"

"Why should there be anything wrong?" Nett asked, hoping to trap Jeffries into saying something incriminating.

"Because the police don't come around asking questions without having a reason to ask them." He hesitated. "Please? Is she alright?"

"I'm sorry to have to tell you, sir, that Ms Lynd is dead." 

"Oh," Jeffries turned to deal with the kettle when it whistled but didn't seem capable of actually making tea. "How? How did she die?"

"We're not sure yet, sir," Nott answered. "Can you tell us where you were on Monday and Tuesday of this week?" 

The artist sat down. "You don't think I?" he stared at the two detectives for a moment, as if stunned at their suspicions and then seemed to realise why they were asking. "Of course; you start with those closest to the victim and work from there." He took a deep breath. "I was in Edinburgh for a gallery opening. I caught the train up on Sunday - I like trains. I checked into my hotel Sunday night and I spent most of Monday with an old university friend. We spent the morning in the Art Gallery, had lunch and then I did a lecture for one of his classes and then sat in on a life drawing class. I made some sketches of my own and helped out some of the students. I went back to my hotel for a light tea and then went to the opening. Tuesday I spent sketching around the city - the light that far north is different to the light here and I wanted to catch it. I had lunch out and got back to the hotel in the late afternoon, then some friends and I went out for dinner. I caught the train home Tuesday night. I got a taxi outside the railway station." He shrugged again. "The hotel had those key cards that they all have now and I am sure there is CCTV footage of my time around the city and the taxi driver will remember me because he had an interesting face and I asked him to ring me so I could do some sketches of him. I said I would pay and he said he'd contact me." 

It seemed that Jeffries was another dead end. "Can you tell us more about your relationship?" But it never hurt to be sure.

The artist nodded. "We met at a gallery opening about a year ago. Vesper was with a friend who wanted to buy one of my paintings. She was looking at the 'The Prophet''." He looked over at the kettle, as if he needed tea, and Nett got up to pour hot water over tea bags. "I often put it on display but it's not for sale. I enjoyed our conversation and we met for lunch a week later. After that we met once a week if we were in London. We talked about trivial things, books, films, I asked her about Ponzi schemes when I read about one in the paper since she'd told me she worked at the Treasury." He took the cup Nett handed him and sipped, clearly needing to ease his throat. "I told you my wife died but I enjoy female company. I didn't want to start a relationship so being friends with Vesper suited us both. I got the impression her husband thought more of his work than her and she was lonely. But it was obvious she loved him so there was no danger of anything complicated happening." He put down his cup and started fiddling with the mail he had collected. Nett recognised displacement activity and waited for whatever the man was hesitating to say.

Knowing he had to tell the detectives everything he knew about Vesper it still felt like betrayal when he said, "she wasn't happy. She didn't state it explicitly but I could tell she was becoming very jealous of the time her husband was away overseas with his job. I had the distinct impression she was falling out of love with him. I told her she should talk to him and I know she had told her best friend, Elizabeth Lock, what was troubling her but I couldn't do any more than offer my ear to listen. Being a man I felt that her friend would be a better source of advice but I did tell her that if she really needed to speak to some one she should call me."

Net asked, "did Ms Lynd change in any way in the last two months?" there had to be a reason she bought that extra mobile 'phone when up to that time she had called the artist on her regular one.

Jeffries hesitated for a moment and then nodded. "About two months ago - I can't be specific what date it was - Vesper changed her mobile 'phone number. She said that she had been keeping all her numbers on one 'phone but had decided it was easier to keep work and personal numbers separate." He shrugged, "I didn't see the point but it made no difference to me. Vesper called me if she needed to change the date and time of our lunch meetings and I had very little reason to call her. Just after that change she called to ask me to go out with her to the theatre."

"You had been out with her in the evening before?" Smith asked, scenting something on the wind. 

"Twice," the artist said carefully. "But the first time she offered me tickets that James had bought and then had to go out of the country I refused. I told her I didn't want to change the parameters of our friendship. She was a married woman and I was mourning my wife whom I really loved. But Vesper said I had misunderstood - she was offering me a ticket and we would meet at the theatre and she would go home straight afterwards. Since it was Ben Wishaw as Richard the Second and it was one of the Shakespeare plays I haven't seen I accepted the ticket. We met in our seats and we chatted about the play while I waited with Vesper for her taxi. I think I'll paint something and call it Vespers." Already ideas were half forming in his imagination."

The two detectives left and Smith drove back into the city to the office of Simon Whilkes. "Fill me in on Mr Whilkes," he asked, skillfully dodging and suicidal pedestrian.

Net opened the file. "Simon Whilkes inherited a lot of money and the controlling share of Whilkes Industrial and Shipping from his father. He's divorced with two children. His wife twice reported him for domestic violence but changed her mind before charges were laid. She got a good settlement and generous alimony in the divorce. She lives in a posh house owned by her ex-husband, rent free. Their oldest child, Susan, is studying art history at Oxford and he is paying all her fees and she gets a generous allowance. I looked up her Facebook page and she is an art potter who makes nice stuff that I couldn't afford. The youngest is a son, Martin, who is at a posh boarding school who is some kind of genius and who plans to study computer science and engineering." Facebook was really helpful when it came to getting background information. "He also gets a generous allowance.

"Simon has a brother, Philip, who has a record - twice arrested for being in places where illegal gambling was taking place. He and his wife now live with Simon and his wife, Jennifer, acts as Simon's hostess when needed. It seems from what I could find out that Philip has a serious gambling addiction and he and his wife are Simon's pensioners. Their only child, a daughter named Felicity, has Down's Syndrome and went to a special school and now has a unit in a protected living facility - also courtesy of Simon."

"He's a man that likes to be in control then," Smith noted as he looked around for a parking space. When Nett looked a question he explained. "He uses his money to keep control over his family. The ex-wife probably likes her posh house - that she probably couldn't afford is he had to pay rent and the children and brother - well you do get used to a certain life style, even if it means being nice to a control freak."

"If he's as controlling as you say, sir," Nett suggested. "We could use that to upset him, maybe get him to say something he shouldn't."

Smith agreed. "And this is what I think we should do …"

Whilkes was a short, rather plump, man who, Smith thought, had a very low opinion of other people. He wasn't pleased to have his afternoon's work interrupted by the police, that was obvious, but he waved them to take seats at his desk and asked how he could help.

"We're investigating the death of a Ms Vesper Lynd," D I Smith said, settling back in his seat and making sure he gave the impression of settling in for a long questioning. "We found your phone number on her mobile phone and we would like to know what your relationship was."

Whilkes frowned, not liking the way the detectives looked at him. He was used to people being nice to him because he was their employer or because they wanted access to his money or power but these two seemed to think their warrant cards gave them power over him! "Vesper and I were … close when we were at university. We dated for a while but I broke off the relationship when I found out she was cheating on me. She was also rather argumentative … she seemed to think her time was more valuable than mine!" 

"And yet you called her several times in the past two weeks?" Nett asked. "Why is that?"

"I saw Vesper in the foyer after a play we had both attended. I spoke to her, as an old friend and she seemed pleased to see me. I phoned just to say hello." Whilkes's voice shook a little and Smith pounced.

"Why bother?" Smith asked. "You said you ended the relationship, why want to talk to her?" The log of the calls showed that they were very short - just time for Ms Lynd to find out who was calling and break the connection. And it seems that she did not want to talk to you but you persisted in calling her?"

Whilkes' face tightened. "She said she wasn't interested in seeing me again. She said she was happily married. She just would not listen!"

Making an educated guess Nett said, "you followed her after she left her office on Monday night, didn't you?" He leant forwards to emphasise his words. "And when you had a chance you hit her and threw her in the River!"

"She was a slut!" Whilkes almost shouted, his face turning into a hate filled mask. "She said she didn't want to see me any more - just because I wanted to know where she was and who she was talking to when I wasn't there. She was mine and when I told her so she said she was nobody's but her's."

"Simon Whilkes, I am arresting you on suspicion of killing Vesper Lynd on the night of Monday …." 

James Bond was nuzzling Q's neck, just under his ear, where the gland that alpha's bit to claim their omega was just under the skin. He liked the scent of the man he was currently bringing to orgasm; his mind was centred on their shared pleasure, all he could think of was the tight muscles of Q's body around his cock, urging him to thrust deeper, to bury himself knot deep and come again and again. The pleasure built, overcoming any rational thought and as orgasm peaked he bit down, tasting blood.

Q came with a cry, as James bit down into the gland just under the tender skin of his neck. Inside the gland a nerve impulse shot up his neck at the speed of light and at the last synapse lit up the pleasure centre of the omega's brain and Q arched his back and came again and again until there was nothing but white light and then unconsciousness that morphed into sleep. Hormones, stirred into production by the bite and mutual orgasm poured into Q's bloodstream, changing the scent of his body. He was now an omega bonded.

Pleasure still rippling through his mind and body Bond lost all conscious thought and loss of consciousness morphed into sleep so that nature could change his body and he would be a bonded alpha, his scent taking up some of Q's scent and Q's some of his. 

When the two detectives returned to New Scotland Yard with their suspect and left him to the Booking Sergeant they went up to their desks and found more information waiting for them. An email addressed to DI Smith had a file attached showing a man following Vesper from her office building down to the Embankment and then pulling her out of sight of any of the CCTV cameras in the area before coming back into view ten minutes later. As the man hurried away a camera caught his face and it was undoubtedly Whilkes. 

"We got him," Smith informed his sergeant happily. Even a very expensive barrister would not be able to deny this evidence. He wanted a confession, of course, and had no doubt that a few hours suffering the humiliation of being treated like any other criminal would have Whilkes angry enough to boast of what he had done.

Nett looked over at his superior. "I got an email from the Salisbury police. When they informed Ms Lynd's parents of her death and asked if they thought anybody would have reason to kill her said that they didn't particularly like Bond but he was not the kind of man who needed to dominate his wife. Mr Lynd said that Bond was an alpha who just was an alpha and didn't have to keep proving it."

Interviews and paper work took up the rest of the day but Smith and Nett had their confession. Whilkes didn't even bother asking to speak to his barrister but Smith rang his brother to let him know what had happened. Late afternoon had turned to evening by the time the two detectives could leave and Smith watched as Nett took out his mobile phone and made a call. When Nett broke the connection he grinned over at the other man. "She said yes! We're meeting at eight for dinner." Unless something urgent came up, of course. But Nett understood about dinner dates abandoned or plans for a night of mutual pleasure interrupted. 

Smith urged the younger man towards the lift bank. "You can tell me all about it in the morning. I am going home to my wife, having something nice to eat and a night watching the telly." 

Nett heard the pleasure and satisfaction in the other man's voice. It sounded like the kind of night he might enjoy - when he was old! 

 

Chapter 6

When Bond woke his face was buried in dark hair that tickled his nose. He rolled over onto his back and then it hit him - he was bonded to Q! It might be excusable to seduce a woman for information while he was working and he knew that sharing Q's heat had saved his life after his forced rut but bonding - no that was inexcusable. He would have to tell Vesper and she would be angry and upset and he would be at fault, she would have every right to curse him to kingdom come. He would have to leave her, destroy their marriage; and all because he could not control himself, he, a man who prided himself on his self-control. He knew there was something wrong with his marriage, Vesper had been distant, angry at his continued absences, but he had not been willing to give up the job that he thought gave his life meaning, that was important to his country. Vesper had worked with him at Casino Royale and she knew - or ought to he had always thought - how important what he did was. Now, bonded, he would have to giver up being 007; no wonder Fate was called the Bitch Goddess!

Q woke as James rolled out of bed, his mind clearing, memory returning. Oh! They were bonded and James was married. He watched as the alpha went to shower and sighed; they'd have to talk and soon. Looked like he was going to be the one who told Bond that his wife was dead. Shit! he muttered under his breath. Shit, shit, shit! Once he was alone he rolled out of bed, very aware of aching muscles and a fuzzy head, and started stripping the bed of the sex soiled linens. He didn't bother putting anything on - he and James had just spend three days having mind-numbing sex, they were bonded - modesty seemed a bit redundant. 

James showered, washing off the scents of sex and wrapped a towel around his waist before going over the over-basin mirror. His razors were sitting neatly by the sink in their box but he decided that his hands were not steady enough to use them so he cleaned his teeth, tidied his hair and went back into the bedroom. Seeing his Quartermaster naked didn't shock him as much as he would have supposed but modesty had never been a high priority with him anyway. 

"I'll finish cleaning up here." James said as he entered the bedroom.   
"Thanks." Q nodded and went to shower. He stopped and turned back. "If you slide back the second to last panel," he pointed to the wall opposite the window, "there's walk-in wardrobe." 

James picked up suitcase that had been packed for him and dropped the towel and slid into comfortable cotton pyjamas and dressing gown. The space behind the panel was well laid out and even his extensive wardrobe would fit easily. He put away the couple of day's clothes some one had packed for him and then finished stripping the bed. A little exploring found the washer and drier and he set the first load washing and headed for the kitchen and food.

Bond was pleased to see that Q owned a coffee machine and he set it going and put the kettle on for Q's Earl Grey tea then he looked in the fridge and found all the ingredients for a hearty breakfast, already sliced and ready to throw in the frying pan. 

Q followed the smell of cooking bacon and fresh toast into the kitchen just as the kettle boiled. James poured boiling water into the big teapot and took it over to the table, ready laid with a large mug and milk and sugar. "Food in two," he said, picking up his own mug of coffee. 

The two men sat in silence while they ate, too hungry and tired for small talk but there were somethings that needed to be said and Bond was never a man to put off what needed to be done. "I will need to go and tell Vesper. If she wants the flat I'll let her keep it. I want to move in here with you - if that's what you want …" the bonded alpha in him wanted to be with his bonded omega but he was not about to demand anything of Q - the days when an alpha caught up his omega in his arms and carried him off to his den were long gone. Q smiled as he put down his mug and looked up at his bonded alpha. "Yes." A simple statement but his voice said how pleased he was.

Q let Bond sip more coffee; he knew there was more that had to be said and he took a deep breath and said it as bluntly and simply as he knew James would want it said. "Vesper is dead."

Trained to hide his emotions Bond nevertheless sat for a few second without moving before putting down his mug carefully. "How did she die?" If it was some enemy out of his past then Q was going to have to wait for him to move in and settle down to whatever version of domesticity they worked out together. His feeling for Vesper had become mixed, he knew she had grown to dislike his frequent absences from their marriage and that she felt betrayed by his seductions while on missions, and that resentment was causing him to feel resentful in return - Vesper had known what he did, had worked with him, but still she was jealous and felt betrayed. But all these feelings did not excuse his bonding with Q. But Vesper had been his wife and he would take his revenge on who ever had taken her life.

Q shook his head. "I don't know. Her body was found by the River." He picked up his mobile phone. "I can ring Miss Moneypenny and see if she knows…" When James nodded he punched in Eve's speed dial and when she answered put the phone on loud speaker. "Eve, it's Q. I've told James about Vesper and he's listening … do you have any information about what happened to her?"

I'm sorry James. Eve said, glad that Q had warned her Bond was listening. I spoke to one of the detectives from Scotland Yard last night. He told me that it was an old boyfriend of Vesper's who wanted her back in his life. She told him she wasn't interested but he decided that she was his and if he couldn't have her nobody could. Eve took a deep breath. I'm sorry but even though she was unconscious when she was thrown into the River she died of drowning.

"Thanks for telling me," Bond said. He ran his hands through his hair, trying to force his brain to work. "Do her family know?" He was going to have to call them but not today if he didn't really have to. The day after a heat was a day for eating and sleeping and if the alpha and omega bonded then they needed to be close together even when asleep. 

The police in Salisbury told them, Eve answered, understanding that James was not really in a fit state to talk to his grieving parents-in-law. 

"I'll ring them tomorrow, then," Bond told her. "If you could let your contact at Scotland Yard know that I'll let him know the arrangements for collecting the body and I'd like to talk to him, get all the details."

Of course Eve agreed. She was hoping to see James Nett again soon, Bond's request would be an excuse to ring him today. I'll get his contact details and pass them on to you.

Q broke the connection and stood up. "Can you tidy up here while I make up the bed?" James hadn't had the guided tour of the house yet. His phone pinged and he read the text message. "The friend who is looking after my cats wants to bring them around about six o'clock." He was sure he had mentioned his cats - and his mortgage - to James.

"I'm more a dog person." Bond said easily. He'd grown up with hunting dogs at Skyfall, "but I don't mind cats. What are they like?" He hoped they weren't white fluff balls - he had memories of Blofeld feeding live goldfish to his cat.

"No," Q shook his head when James told him about the cat who seemed as evil as its owner and laughed. "You won't have to worry about fur on your suits." He held it his phone for James to see. "They grey tabby is Shrodinger, the ginger is Philby."

James studied the cats and looked up at his bondmate. "Schrodinger I get; everybody's heard of Schrodinger's Cat but Philby? The spy?"

Q smiled and shrugged. "I got Philby from a friend at Oxford who studied in the same college as Philby had been in and liked the idea of a cat who slinked around being named after a spy. He worked at London Imperial College but when he got a job offer from Adelaide University in Australia he couldn't take Philby so I took him in."

Hoping that the cats would accept him but too tired to really care Bond started tidying up the kitchen while Q sorted out clean bed linen and put another load in the washer and drier.   
Chapter 7  
When the friend who had been cat sitting for Q arrived with the two cat carriers she handed them over and left with a wave and a grin; she had seen James hovering protectively behind her friend and approved of Q's choice of bond mate. Q had made no attempt to hide the bruise on his neck that would heal into his bond mark, more interested in his cats than turning up his collar. 

Q waved Jennifer a fond farewell and picked up the carriers and carried them into the kitchen. He set them down and sat down in front of them, talking to his pets even as he opened the latches. The cats stepped out onto his legs carefully, pointedly giving the impression that they hadn't minded being given away! 

Schrodinger twitched her whiskers when her nose picked up an unfamiliar scent. The person sitting in front of her looked like her owner but he smelt different - and there was a stranger in the house! She flexed her claws, not best pleased and waited to see what her companion would do. 

Philby was as confused as his house-mate. He knew his owner, knew his scent and his voice but he smelt wrong - a turn of the head and a delicate sniff indicated that he smelt of this strange Human. He wasn't sure what to do so he turned his golden eyes on the stranger and mewed his displeasure.

Bond bent down from his seat at the table and offered a hand to sniff, hoping he wouldn't be swiped by scimitar-like claws that had sprung out of what had looked like soft, padded feet. Philby stepped a little closer and sniffed the hand - which smelt like his Human. He twitched his whiskers and licked the offered hand, tasting his owner and the stranger mixed together. 

The cat's rough tongue made James' hand itch but he kept it steady and then Philby turned away to rub his head over Q's cheek, marking him with his scent. Schrodinger had already decided that she didn’t care about the change of scent - as long as tuna was shortly forthcoming. When Philby went to Q she stepped over to scent Bond's hand and pushed against it, hoping for an ear rub.

Relieved that he had been accepted Bond straightened and stood up to make more tea and coffee. He felt rested but hungry. "Chinese, Indian …?"

Q looked up from his cats with a smile. "As long as there's lots of it I don't care." He gestured vaguely in the direction of take-away menus.

Entirely in agreement with his omega the alpha decided on Chinese and put in a large order. 

After lots of ear rubs and purring Q got up from the floor and opened a tin of tuna to welcome home his pets. He was abandoned for the treat and sat down to sip at hot tea and watch, rather dotingly, as his cats ate. When they were done they headed for the bed and a nice long nap. All this being moved about had interfered with their after-afternoon-nap nap. 

Lots of food, several glasses of wine and a good night's sleep and Bond and Q were ready to face the world again. Q checked in with Q Branch just in case a new super villain had decided to try for world domination while he was away from his department and then joined Bond as he went to his flat to pack up the rest of his clothes and make some phone calls. 

Q looked around the flat James and Vesper had shared and wondered how much of a home it had really been. Apart from one painting hanging on the living room wall the décor was bland-modern. The only feminine touches were the bright silk cushions scattered on the sofa and chairs and a small group of family photographs on a table by the window. If James could bear the sight of the cushions he thought they would brighten up his own bare and boring home. He had planned to redecorate and add some personal touches but being Quartermaster of MI6 took up so much time he had not had the time or energy to shop for more than the basic furniture. 

Bond took a deep breath and dialed the home phone number of Vesper's parents. They had never been more than polite to him the few times they had met but they had lost their daughter and he expected the call to be strained. At least he would be able to assure them that Vesper's killer had been arrested and since he had confessed there was no doubt that the man was going to go to prison for a long time. He was some what relieved when Mr Lynd insisted that the funeral service be conducted at Holy Trinity church in Salisbury where the family still worshipped and which Vesper had attended as a child. James knew that Vesper no longer attended any church but he made no demur; the venue would make the Vesper family the chief mourners rather than himself but he didn't mind; let the family mourn how they could, he would deal with his grief and guilt as best he could. When the call was finally finished with assurances from Lynd that he would take over all the arrangements James went to the cupboard that held his scotch and opened a bottle and poured himself a generous measure. 

Eventually resealing the bottle Bond went to see how his bondmate was getting on with the packing. He didn't want any of the things Vesper had bought for their life together apart from her jewelry, which he would give to her sister and sisters-in-law, and a painting they had bought from a gallery when they had first been married. It was a landscape with a city in the distance that, on first glance, looked quite normal but morphed into something that seemed to belong to a time and place that had never existed but one hoped might have- if only in dreams. It was Q who suggested he call the cleaning lady and offer it all to her. What she didn't want she could give away to friends or to some charity. 

Q studied the strange landscape that James wanted to take back to their home and decided he liked it. He wasn't sure why, and since James wanted to keep it he would have let him hang it even if he didn't like it, but he thought it would look just right hanging in the hallway. He was disappointed about the cushions but only a little. 

James wanted to get everything sorted out as soon as possible and Mrs Demara agreed to come around the next day to collect the offered bounty. Bond even took the family photographs out of the frames so the frames could go into the pile for the cleaner. He had informed her that anything still in the flat - from pots and pans to furniture - was hers to take. When she left the flat he said to leave the keys in a kitchen drawer and lock the doors behind her. 

Q could smell the alchahol on James' breath but he made no comment - he knew how double 0s dealt with stress and guilt. He and James packed clothes and toiletries into suitcases and cartons and finally left to go home. There would be a funeral for James to attend, sympathy cards to open and answer, adjustments to be made to accommodate each other and M to inform of their new status. 

Bond had collected all the papers kept in the safe and emptied the mail box and when they were back in Q's - no - their house he sorted the papers into piles for lawyers and Vesper's family and then looked over the mail. There were two sympathy cards, one from Vesper's co-workers at the Mint and one from Michael Jeffries. Apart from the usual platitudes the artist had written to say that he and Vesper had met for lunches where they had discussed art and books. He added that Vesper's friendship had helped him deal with the loss of his wife and that he hoped that James would find the same much needed support. 

Not sure what to do James went to put away his clothes. He was left alone until Q called him for lunch and as he ate he read through Vesper's will. She had left her jewellery to her sisters-in-law and her sister and her life-insurance to charity but her half of the flat reverted to James. After lunch he wrote to her lawyer, included all the relevant documents and put them in a large envelope to post later. His life with Vesper had come to an end, he needed to start on his life with Q. Life and training had taught him to accept things he could not change and he would deal with this as he had always dealt with life-changing situations. Tidy up and carry on.

When James went looking for his bondmate he found him in the living room working on his laptop. He smiled at his boffin's inability to leave his duties for any longer than he had to so he found a book and settled down to spend a relaxing afternoon. He had a funeral to attend and a new life to start but it could wait a little while. 

It was the smell of cooking that caught Q's attention and he left his computer and ventured into his rarely used (unless he was making tea) kitchen where he found his alpha taking freshly cooked scones out of the oven. Mouth watering, he went closer to sniff and was caught in strong arms that held him close. He rested his head on James' shoulder but when a hand, smelling faintly of flour and butter, lifted his head and tried to turn his face for a kiss he resisted and backed away.

James let Q move away, not sure what was wrong. If his omega didn't want a sexual relationship he didn't know what he could do. He liked sex, needed it, but he could never force Q into anything that he found distasteful. A shiver of apprehension ran up into his heart at the thought of sharing a bed with his bondmate but never being allowed to make love to him. 

Q very much wanted to kiss his James but there were somethings he needed to tell his alpha. Best to get them said and sorted out now. "James I'm gay." First things first.

James frowned. His omega's sexual orientation didn't matter anymore. He had never felt a sexual attraction to males before but that didn't matter now. He had gaydar, it was part of his training to know things about people at a glance, but it had never mattered to him personally. He frowned not understanding why Q thought that more important than kissing.

Seeing the frown and misinterpreting it Q hurried to explain. "I … you're a good looking man, James. I couldn't help but notice that but you were married and straight so I never would have done more than look. But when you were put into a rut just when I was going into a heat it seemed that I was the only one who could help. But I should have realised that it would lead to us bonding." He looked James in the eye, not evading that cool blue gaze, "I should have and I'm sorry. I know how much this is going to change things for you; and I'm sorry."

"Q," James smiled and cupped his bondmate's face with one hand. "I know you didn't mean anything more than to help me, to save my life. But I think, under the circumstances our bonding was almost inevitable. Neither of us was thinking with our brains. Instinct or whatever it was took over." He had something else to say. He doubted that it would make Q feel any better but he wanted to tell him anyway. "Q, my marriage was in trouble. Vesper resented my being away so often and she always worried that I would get seriously hurt or killed. She knew what I did, she was sent out with me on a mission, but she wanted me to resign, do something safer and I didn't want to."

"And now you have to stop being a double 0." Q was shaken. "I am sorry. James I didn’t meant …"

James stopped this with a quick kiss. "Neither of us meant this, love. But it is what is and we have to deal with it. Together."

"Together," Q agreed. There was no other option anyway. He lifted his lips to his alpha's and kissed him. 

Tea and scones was nice after sex, Q decided, sipping at his Earl Grey. He was still thrumming with remembered orgasm and, he smiled to himself, James was as good as his reputation claimed. There might be things they needed to sort out in their new life but frustration wasn't going to be one of them! 

James watched his omega rather dotingly; for such a skinny geek the man could eat. He felt relaxed and at ease; it seemed Q enjoyed sex as much as he did. Which reminded him of something he had to tell his bondmate, though he had a feeling that it wouldn't worry him; a man as dedicated to his work as the Quartermaster of MI6 as Q was didn't seem to be a family man. He took a fortifying sip of very good coffee and said, "I can't give you cubs." 

Q had a mouthful of fruit scone so he had to swallow quickly. "Neither can I," he stated. "That's why I wasn't worried about sharing my heat with you." 

The two men smiled at each other across the table. One more problem solved. 

"We'll have to talk to M," Bond said, breaking the silence between them. "I'll have to resign from the double 0 programme and our records will have to be changed."  
Q nodded thoughtfully. "Will you want to stay with MI6? If M can find something you'd like to do?" He had no intention of resigning - he liked being the Quartermaster.

Bond nodded. "If I can I would like to stay." He smiled. "So I can keep my eye on you." Modern times or not he was programmed to want to be around to protect his omega. "I was wondering whether I could get into training the new agents, finding the potential double 0's. They do a lot of their training with the SAS and on our base but I found that I had a big learning curve when it came to working in big cities. I think the trainees need to spend time here, in London. Part of being a good spy is being comfortable in any place and time and London has lots of places."

"I think you have a good point there," Q agreed. James always seemed to be comfortable where ever he was but that was probably down to his background -coming from a rich, landowning family he was probably used to servants then attending Eton and university would have taught him to be comfortable around a wide variety of people and the Royal Navy had added just the right amount of polish. But not all the double 0 candidates would have had Bond's advantages. He was hopeful that he and Bond would be able to work in the same building. 

 

CHAPTER 8

M sat back in his chair as his Quartermaster and 007 entered his office. He studied the two men carefully; there was something different about them but he couldn't quite tell what it was. Q was back on his suppressants so his scent was close to that of a beta but Bond's had changed. That's when he noticed the bonding mark on Q's neck. So, they were bonded. He waved the two men to sit and waited to be told what was going to happen. Then he could decide what was going to happen. 

Q took the seat on the left of the desk and wasn't really surprised when his bondmate moved the other chair next to his. He noticed that M wasn't surprised by James' actions, no doubt the other alpha's had noticed the change in their scents. 

"I have to inform you, sir," Q stated, confident in his position as Quartermaster, "that James and I are bonded. I will send an email to the Chief Of Staff informing him of the changes that need to be made in my record."

M nodded. "I assume that you intend to continue in your current position as Quartermaster?" 

"I do not see any reason why that should change," Q agreed. M knew about his inability to have children so there wouldn't even need to be any discussion about parental leave.

M looked over at 007, fully aware that Bond would have to resign his double 0 status. He would be hard to replace but there would be a suitable young man amongst the lower ranked agents. "And you 007?" he asked.

"I wish to resign as 007, M," Bond said, he had come to terms with the changes that would need to be made in his life. "I would like to continue to work for MI6 and I have some suggestions for what I would like to do but that, of course, is up to you.

"Before any decisions can be made I have to attend Vesper's funeral; it's tomorrow in Salisbury. When I come back I would like to talk to you about my future with MI6."

"007 and I have talked about his future, M," Q put in. "And he has some suggestions about the future training of double 0s." 

"Oh?" M with a smile. "And am I free to suppose that these changes will need Bond to be here in this building?"

"In London at least," Bond corrected. "I have seen other double 0s having trouble adapting to working in big cities and especially if it means looking comfortable in more affluent circumstances than the ones they grew up in." Back when spies were recruited from universities it could be assumed that they knew how to behave in whatever situation they found themselves but now agents came from a variety of cultural and social backgrounds not all of them were comfortable when faced with high class snobbery or how to avoid being taken for some kind of uncultivated savage. 

M nodded. "I agree, Bond. It is becoming increasingly important that our agents feel relaxed when faced with riches and power. I'll think about your suggestion and we can discuss it when you come back to London. Friday some time?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you." Bond felt the little knot of worry that had taken up a place in his stomach relax. 

M waved the two men away. "Quartermaster I am sure your staff will be glad to see you again and share in your good news. Bond I'll see you Friday afternoon."

Q Branch was humming quietly as it usually did; the background noise of computers and conversations music to Q's ears but things got quieter when the minions noticed that 007 had followed their Overlord into the working area.

Taking a deep breath Q stopped in the middle of the room and waited until everybody was looking at him, even the people working on urgent communications sparing him a glance when they could.

"I want to just let you know that James and I have bonded." Before anyone could comment he went on. "Nothing else has changed."

R moved first, holding out a hand and smiling. "Congratulations, sir." She smiled over at Bond. "And you, too, sir."

"Thank you." Bond was at his most urbane. "Q and I have arranged for cake for morning tea." That lightened the atmosphere considerably. He waited for the comments, ready to glare meaningfully at any one who didn't seem pleased but the minions seemed genuinely happy that their Overlord had found a bondmate. Most of the technicians were betas and betas seemed to think that an unbonded omega was unhappier than an unmarried beta. 

Q found himself quite overwhelmed with congratulations and smiles and he found it easiest to just smile and say thank you and let it all wash over him. Things would calm down in a little while and they could go back to work. Nobody mentioned parental leave but it hovered just out of hearing so he decided to squash that worry straightaway. There were a few disappointed looks but no more and eventually everybody was back at their desks and working. 

"I’ll be on my way," James said when everybody had drifted off, some still talking to their friends about the news. "I'm expected for dinner with the Lynd's."

Q nodded, he knew James had responsibilities towards his in-laws. He leant forward and kissed his bondmate's cheek. "Drive safely and I'll see you sometime … Thursday?"

"Sometime Thursday," Bond agreed, returning the kiss to approving murmurs from the minions. Then he left Q to do his job, there was no need for him to hover.

The drive up the motorway was an easy drive for Bond, even with the trucks. Once he hit the suburbs of Salisbury he used his sat-nav to guide himself through the city's streets and without too much frustration he arrived at the Salisbury Regal. The suite he'd booked was satisfactorily comfortable and he unpacked and went down to the bar for a drink. Being James Bond he flirted with the barmaid and found that he really wasn't all that interested even in the mildest flirtation; he was annoyed - he liked flirting with beautiful women, smiling at them, letting them know he appreciated their curves, the trouble they'd taken with their clothes and make up. Finishing his drink, smiling at the disappointment in the woman's eyes he left the bar. He had plenty of time to acquaint himself with the town; even though he wasn't on a mission he wanted to know his way around the area close to the hotel. It was a habit long ago trained into him and he felt a spurt of anger (or was it disappointment?) that he no longer really needed to be on high alert when he was in a strange city. As he entered the dimness of the Cathedral he felt a stab of resentment at the fact that Q would not have to give up anything, he would just go on as he already was. 

There was a small group of tourists being shown around by a tour-guide so Bond headed in the opposite direction, not really interested in ecclesiastical architecture. He could smell incense, lurking in the stone and curling around pillars, and against all logic the sound of boys singing seemed to linger high above him. He stopped to idly read the marble epitaph of some Victorian worthy and paced on deeper into the building. The Lady Chapel was quiet and he lingered to look up at the stained glass windows. He puffed out a breath and turned and walked swiftly down the nave and back into the street. At least he felt more at home there.

The Lynd family home was in an affluent suburb of large houses and perfectly trimmed gardens. He had bought flowers for his hostess and she was pleased with them he thought as he was ushered into the drawing room and left to face up to Vesper's father and siblings while she put the flowers in a vase. Everybody was well dressed and sober faced and Bond slipped into what was the appropriate guise; he'd done it before for more important and dangerous gatherings. Part of him stood back and watched while he said all the right things the right way. He was supposed to be a grieving husband meeting his dead wife's family after all. And he was grieving, grieving that he and Vesper had made mistakes - maybe the their first was getting married, maybe an affair with a fond farewell might have been a better choice - that he couldn't be the man she wanted, the man he never really had been. She'd been blind to the double 0, the assassin, the spy. 

Dinner was well cooked and served but Bond was relieved when it was time for him to leave the Lynd house and go back to his hotel. He lingered at the bar, ordering martinis 'shaken not stirred' until his head began to buzz and then went up to his rooms. 

 

Chapter 9

Holy Trinity church was Victorian Gothic with plenty of parking and Bond slid his car into a space close enough to the church for a quick getaway if it was needed. He straightened his black suit jacket and obeyed the instructions of the undertaker and his assistants who were ready for the service to begin.

James carried his corner of the coffin easily, steadying it with a strong hand as the other bearers struggled with the weight. Vesper had been fashionably slender, though not without her share of pleasing curves, but he was surprised how much effort it took to make it up to the chancel and lower the coffin onto the trestles. As he moved back to his pew James ran his eye over the highly polished wood and silver, trained eyes guessing the weight. As he sat down he hid a smile; he couldn't stop being one of Her Majesty's finest spies so why try to suppress his instincts? He picked up the service sheet and sighed at the number of pages - this was going to take a while.

Bond stood up and sat down, sang half-heartedly along with the hymns and kept silent while the prayers droned on. He studied the building, trying to work out the subjects of the stained glass windows and how much the brass work was worth. The church was nearly full, obviously the Lynd's friends and fellow parishioners had turned out in support and it took all of his training not to fidget as they all took communion with suitably glum faces. Fortunately the sermon was brief and it was all eventually over. He helped carry the coffin out to the hearse, followed it to the cemetery, bore as well as he could with more prayers and watched as everybody left him alone for a moment. He looked down into the grave. 

"Goodbye, Vesper," he said in a whisper. "I'm sorry it didn't turn out better." Then he left and followed the mourners back to the Lynd house. A few hours more and it would all be over. 

The Reverend Lithmore seemed a nice man, Bond thought as he watched the cleric speak to the Lynd's and then move in his direction.

"Thank you for letting the family bury Vesper here," the priest said gently. "I know they appreciate it."

"I'm sure she would like to be here with them," Bond answered; not caring really. He visited Tracy's grave once a year, he would do the same for Vesper. It was a futile, empty gesture but he did it anyway.

Something shifted in Lithmore's eyes and Bond was uncomfortably reminded that just as he had been trained to read body language the man watching him had been trained to read souls. "It was a good deed." A smile and the man was gone. Bond looked after him as he crossed the room, a little shaken.

Eventually the mourners left and Bond was free to go back to his hotel. He ordered a light meal and a bottle of scotch and spent the rest of the day reading the history of the Wars of the Roses he'd brought with him. He had done his duty to Vesper, gone along with her family's wishes and now he felt free to let it all go. He had never been a man for regrets, they were too burdensome, could drive a man to carelessness. He hadn't lived as long as he had, come close to mandatory retirement age for double 0s, by going back over the things he had said and done. He hadn't done them for his own ends, indeed he had made sacrifices for his country. It was sufficient justification.

He ate a well cooked dinner in the hotel restaurant, slept well and left early to drive back to London. Q was where his future lay. 

Chapter 10

The warm, dry weather had finally broken and the motorway was slick with rain, making most drivers cautious, slowing the flow of traffic. Bond sighed and drove a little slowly - he liked to drive fast, especially if he was being chased by men with guns. He enjoyed the adrenalin rush as he barely made a corner, watching in the rear vision mirror with an evil grin as the people chasing him missed the corner and suddenly found themselves becoming intimately acquainted with the Mediterranean. He enjoyed making police scatter when they realised he wasn't going to stop; the feeling of road blocks shattering under the impact of his bonnet. A sudden smile as he began to think of 'interesting' ways of teaching junior agents some of the tricks he'd learnt over the years …

Bond this is Q. 

Bond was immediately alert, not bothering to wonder how Q was able to contact him so easily - he put it all down to the wonders of modern technology and the boffins of Q Branch. "Bond here, Q. How can I help?" The 'I' would inform Q that Bond was alone. His mate sounded alright but that meant little, he'd been on coms with the Quartermaster when he was on missions and the younger man never lost his cool, precise diction - even when there was the threat of immediate death or destruction.

There's been a bad accident about five miles up ahead and all lanes are blocked. There is an off ramp coming up on your left Bond flicked the indicator

"Thanks, Q," Bond said as the car slightly to his rear and to his left slowed down to let him change lanes. "Bad?" As he asked, as if in answer to his question, two ambulances speed past - lights and music - followed by a fire engine.

A truck seems to have jack-knived and hit two or maybe three cars. All lanes are closed and the traffic is backing up.

"Thanks for the heads-up." Bond too the off-ramp followed by a couple of drivers who had realised that they risked getting stuck in traffic.

Bond drove, watching the cars that had followed him off the motorway carefully. If a double 0 agent wasn't paranoid before they started their training those responsible for their training made sure they were before it finished. 

Mr Bond? This is Allen, calling for Mr Quinn.

"This is Bond. What can I do for you, Allen?" Again the confirmation that Bond was alone. He wondered why Q hadn't contacted him but the caller must have been aware of the concern James might have.

The Quartermaster is on a conference call with Mr Lewis and has asked me to liase with you, sir. If you take the next on ramp to the motorway you should have a clear run all the way to London. The Quartermaster has asked to say he will see you when you get back to back to HQ.

"Thank you, Allen. Please inform Q that I will see him the minute I arrive at HQ." Bond could feel the need to at least see his bondmate but he was aware that Q might not have time to do more than glance his way; Q would not neglect his duty to 005 just to make sure his alpha was well and James would not expect him to. 

Bond managed to lose the cars that had followed him as he went through the traffic lights on the on-ramp. He speed up to the speed limit to make sure he put as much distance as possible between them. The traffic on the motorway was light - the emergency services seemed to have managed to open at least one lane for traffic to start moving but there would be a lot of frustrated - and late - drivers stuck in line waiting to start moving again. As he thought this a Jaguar passed him, well over the speed limit; obviously the driver was impatient at being delayed and determined to make up lost time. James smirked when he passed the car pulled over at the end of the off-ramp with a motorcycle cop examining the driver's paperwork. 

Q Branch was busy - obviously 005 was in trouble and in need of support and information. Bond circled around the room and then moved closer to where Q was working his magic on the big screen as he typed instructions into whatever security system he'd hacked into. He stopped, waiting for Q to have a moment to look in his direction. 

Q felt James coming closer and then stopping, not wanting to interfere with his work but it was a while before he had even the time for even a quick exchange of glances; Lewis was in trouble and getting him safely out of Afghanistan was taking all of his attention. Eventually 005 was safely behind a wrecked building and finding time to catch his breath and reload his gun so he looked around to smile at his bondmate. 

James smiled back, nodded his understanding of why he had had to wait and found a seat where he could see the screen. Tim was in trouble but James had every confidence in Q and Q Branch's abilities. 

Q went back to work, re-assured that his bondmate had returned and all was well. They could touch hands, talk, when he had time to spare for such simple pleasures. Maybe he'd suggest that James go home and cook something delicious for dinner - saving his agents always made him hungry! 

R gave Bond an ear bug so he could hear what was going on with 005 and he sat back in his chair; this would be the first time he had been here to watch Q and his minions work the magic that had saved his life when things went bad. 

"Your rescue chopper is on it's way," Q informed Lewis after a short exchange of gun fire.

"Tell them to stay well back," 005's voice was steady in Bond's ear; Lewis was managing to keep calm in a very stressful situation. "One of them's got a ground to air." He did not want people to die trying to rescue him.

"Noted," Q answered, as the minion in charge of directing the helicopter told them to go into a holding pattern. He looked down as a square appeared in the bottom right corner of his big screen. He moved it up so he could see it and then looked around and waved over the leader of a group of engineers who had been talking together in low voices. "Are you sure?" he asked, moving the small screen back down to its corner.

"As sure as we can be," the engineer answered. "It least it gives him a chance."

Q nodded, his experience working with the double 0's had taught him that even a chance was all they needed to succeed where lesser men and women would fail. "Very well. The com is yours." He moved aside but his green eyes were fixed on the grainy satellite picture.

Taking a deep breath the engineer turned on his ear wig. "005 this is Dawood, Engineering. Do you still have the jacket that you were issued?"

"Yes." There was a hopeful tone in the double 0's voice as he answered. Like all the other double 0's he had come to trust Q and his staff to do all they could to help them.

Bond tensed, knowing that the boffins were about to perform another miracle. He leant forward a little, as if he could get closer to 005 and offer his support.

"Right," Dawood, took another breath and looked over to his colleagues who nodded their encouragement. It was a point of honour to every one of the staff of Q Branch that they do all they could to get every agent home. "Right this is what you need to do. If you remember there is a sand mask in the collar of the jacket. You will need it later so have it ready to deploy." He waited until 005 said he was ready. "Now I want you to take off two buttons and turn them all the way around - this will set the sixty minute fuse." The engineer knew the agent had been told about the explosive in the buttons but he wanted to make sure that 005 knew exactly what he needed to do. "Now throw one in the north-east corner of the building on the ground floor and one on the same orientation on the first floor." He and his colleagues had been able to study what was left of the large building that 005 was hiding behind. "When you have done that turn the third button halfway around, giving you thirty seconds, then throw it next to the one on the ground floor and then get the Hell out of the way."

"Running like the Hounds of Hell were snapping at my heels." 005 got more poetic the more danger he was in. All the double 0s had their own way of dealing with stress.

Dawood watched the screen and the dust cloud sent up by the explosions and when it reached the limping but running image of 005 he said, sharply, "down. Now!"

"Like brick," 005 said, obeying the instruction and pulling the mask down over his nose and mouth. His breathing was harsh over the com. "Mask working."

Q watched the screen for movement and when he saw none he ordered Lewis to get moving and the minion monitoring the rescue helicopter gave it the all clear to go ahead and pick up 005. "Rescue chopper reports 005 collected and treating him for minor injuries." 

Q took the wig out of his ear and turned to shake Dawood's hand and then the two men went over to the other engineers who looked pleased with themselves. "Well done, all of you," Q said.

"It was Mac thought of it first," Dawood said, indicating the oldest of the group, a tall slender man with thick white hair and a lined face - who reddened little with pleasure.

Q knew his staff and believed in encouraging them to think for themselves and to come forward if they had what could be a useful idea. "Well done, Mac. You saved a man's life." He smiled at the group. "Lunch tomorrow?" When they all nodded he added, "let me know where you want to go and I'll make the arrangements. And you can take the afternoon off as well afterwards." 

The tension bled out of the room as Q Branch relaxed. The engineers were looking pleased as they headed for the tea room and a nice hot cuppa. A couple of the computer staff followed, eager to get the full story. Q looked around for James, needing the touch of his bondmate. When he saw him he smiled and held out a hand in invitation. He wanted to pull his alpha close, feel strong arms enfold him and ease away the last of his stress but this was not the time or the place.

Bond moved forward to take the offered hand and frowned as he did so. It looked like hand was all he was going to get - work appropriate be damned; he wanted a hug, to sniff his omega's scent, to assure himself that all was well. His inner alpha reminded him that he could command his omega to come to him, submit to his scenting but he forced it down. Q would obey him, he would have no choice, but when would it stop - would he then command his Q to kiss him when Q needed to be doing something else, would he then command his omega to submit to his sexual demands? He wouldn't do that, it would undermine their relationship, but Q would not know that and it would always be there - a barrier to a more trusting relationship. And Bond would not lose the chance for future happiness to ease his present need. It would be a miserable existence if he had to spend his life with an omega who doubted his future actions. So he took the offered hand and smiled. "Well done, Q."

Q had seen the flash of alpha dominance come over James' face and he was momentarily afraid. Would his alpha demand more, the scenting and kiss he obviously wanted? It would undermine his independence, his ability to be Quartermaster, the chance of a loving and respectful relationship between them and he would spend the rest of his life waiting for his alpha to order what he wanted rather than ask. And then the look of dominance faded, James smiled and took his hand. They shared a look, acknowledging that they both wanted more than to touch hands.

"Later," Bond said softly, for Q's ears only. "Tea?"

"Please," Q confirmed. "Why don't we get you a coffee at the same time?" he dropped the hand he had been holding and led the way to the tea room. Mac was explaining how he had thought of blowing down a building on Lewis' attackers and Bond settled down to listen as Q handed him a mug of coffee and made his own tea. 

As Bond sipped his coffee and listened to the engineer he relaxed. He was part of these people now, his future lay here, in HQ, looking after the other double 0s, making sure they had the best training and support possible. He looked over at his omega and smiled into his mug - he would also have all the sex he wanted, an interesting companion and the satisfaction of making the lives of future agents in training as Hellish as possible. 

A year later when Bond said he was going up to Salisbury to put flowers on Vesper's grave Q nodded and wished him safe driving just as he had when Bond drove to the cemetery in the country, by the old church, where his first wife was buried. Q was not jealous, nor did he want to deny that the two women had loved James before he did. They were the past, he was the present - and the future? that was an unknown country.


End file.
